


Her Happy Ending

by petyrbaealish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 10:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12033942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petyrbaealish/pseuds/petyrbaealish
Summary: Based on a prompt from my 300 Follower Celebration on tumblr, by @lady-sansa-baelish:"Hi Aea, Been trying to think of something to suggest for my one off story... so I would like to see Petyr and Sansa of the future... For example a wedding anniversary... renewing their vows... with kids etc... and them remembering about how life has been extra... Maybe one or two explicit scenes... you gotta have a little smut hehe Thank you :- ) I hope this is what you were after.. if not I can think of something else"Sansa wakes up on Christmas Eve, and reflects on how far she's come, before celebrating with her family.Trigger warning for attempted rape/non consensual sex, abuse (from Joffrey). It's not too graphic.





	Her Happy Ending

The alarm pealed, wrenching Sansa from what had been a most pleasant dream, her children angelic in their behavior and her husband and father, joking with conviviality in the kitchen. Both scenarios weren’t entirely implausible, though she doubted she’d ever be gifted with such miracles, even on Christmas.

Beside her, Petyr groaned and pulled her closer, her butt fitting perfectly into his lap as he spooned against her. She could feel the beginnings of an erection, the result of having just woken up and his rather insatiable appetite for his wife, though she doubted they’d have a moment to spare for such attentions today. Still, she snuggled closer, smiling as his breath tickled her ear, a wisp of mint still lingering on its current despite hours of slumber. 

These brief moments between waking up and finally rousing for the day were always among her favorites of the day. Though Sansa adored her children, they were mentally exhausting, even as they brought insurmountable joy into her life. In contrast, her husband grounded her, kept her sane among all of the chaos that life saw fit to throw their way, her protector and confidant, the love she’d always dreamed of as a little girl. Sure, Petyr was far different than she’d ever pictured for the man she’d marry, back when she’d only been concerned with movie star good looks and rippling muscles, but she’d long ago realized that perfect pictures often had their own stories lurking beneath, ones that never quite matched up to the pleasant exterior.

He was handsome, and loving, a man with questionable morals who’d truly do anything to make her and their kids happy, to keep them safe. Rather than a knight in shining armor, he was the puppeteer, pulling the strings of those knights, lords, and ladies, unseen yet ever present, the master of subtle manipulation. Life was a show, and everyone in it followed his careful direction, whether they meant to or not.

Sansa hadn’t known the true depth lingering behind his grey-greens when she’d first met him, seventeen and still ignorant of the cruelty men were capable of. Her entire family had been uprooted from their cozy home, answering the call for more money and increased stability when Robert Baratheon had extended the offer. Eddard Stark had been reluctant at first, but with five children, and his sister’s son to take care of, the prospect of paying for their continued education long after he and his wife were in the grave, he’d finally given in. Robert had offered his childhood friend a top position in his company, complete with an eye popping salary and countless benefits, and it seemed foolish to decline.

At first, Sansa had been thrilled, having quickly caught the eye of Joffrey Baratheon, Robert’s eldest son. Joffrey had seemed almost a prince, features chiseled and manner far more palatable than the boys back home. He’d grown up wealthy and accustomed to higher society, and dating him promised to be everything she’d ever dreamed of, fancy dinners and beautiful dresses, gifts of expensive jewelry and fragrant bouquets. She felt swept away by the novelty of it all, so much that she barely noticed the subtle shifts in his demeanor, not until far, far too late.

It started with a snide comment here and there, building to physical threats if she failed to cooperate, and finally to the occasional reprimand, bruises littering her skin wherever clothes would be certain to hide the evidence. Sansa hadn’t fully understood the gravity of the situation, always passing off his behavior with justifications, reminding herself that she’d deserved it, really, and any time she hadn’t, he’d always apologized, showering her with gifts and affection to make up for it. It was just how things were, she’d told herself. This was completely normal. Still, despite these reasonings, it always lingered in her mind that the fact that she kept all of this hidden from her family said otherwise.

Petyr was the one who’d first noticed, and the one who had helped her see that her relationship with Joffrey was far from healthy, helped her break free from the denial chaining her. He’d found her one night, crying in the darkened gardens of a party the Baratheons were holding in their estate. Joffrey had been angry that one of his friends had hit on her, blaming her for dressing the way she had, insistent that she’d been asking for it. With so many people around, he hadn’t been able to do much, though he’d hissed at her to get the fuck out of his face until later, when he could show his displeasure.

Sansa had been a month shy of eighteen at the time, shivering from the cold fall breeze, and the anticipation of what Joffrey had in store for her later that night. Petyr had stepped out for a smoke (a habit he’d taken up solely as an excuse to get him out of awkward social functions), and hearing her sniffles, had found her sitting huddled behind a topiary of a lion. Wordlessly, he’d slipped off his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders, before sitting next to her in the grass, an act which had always surprised her, knowing how careful he was to keep his clothes in pristine condition. 

She’d stared at him, bewildered by the gesture of kindness from a man she’d barely talked to. Petyr didn’t know her, had no reason to do anything to comfort her, and yet here he was, sacrificing what was likely one of his most expensive suits, all in hopes of lending support. It was so at odds from her relationship with Joffrey, an act of kindness that came without a preceding act of brutality, unsolicited, with no expectations to cheapen it. Sansa had been overwhelmed, tears slipping down her cheeks in torrents as she choked back sobs, not wanting anyone else to discover her pain.

Petyr hadn’t said a word, only shifting closer to pull her into his arms, holding her close as she soaked the shoulder of his dress shirt with her misery. When she’d finally managed to compose herself, he’d pressed a kiss to her forehead and met her gaze, voice low but firm as he spoke the words she’d never forget. 

“You deserve better, sweetling. Don’t let some boy tell you any differently. If the time comes, and you find the strength to leave him, you give me a call, and I’ll come to your aid. Wits and beauty such as yours should never have to suffer through such sorrow. Even under the guise of something as pretty as that fairy tale you’ve kept in your head.” Then he’d slipped his card into her hand, and stood once more, leaving her alone to ponder his words, his jacket still slung about her shoulders.

Sansa wished she had called him, in the end. Too fearful to rely on a man she’d barely known, she’d refrained from doing so. Though his words had struck a chord with her regardless. As the months crawled by, she’d clung to them, letting Petyr’s message soothe her hurt, and bolster her self worth, until one day, she decided to do something about it. She’d met Joffrey in public, in one of the fancier restaurants in town, packed with people, and ended things for good, leaving him to stew as she darted back outside into her cousin’s waiting car. 

And she’d truly thought the matter solved, at the time. Her family seemed bewildered by the sudden end to what had always appeared a happy relationship, but they didn’t pry. Only her cousin Jon had any inclination of the more distasteful aspects of Joffrey, gleaned from her request that he help her make a quick getaway after the breakup. But it hadn’t been over. Far from it.

Sansa had let her guard down as weeks passed, eventually venturing out without someone by her side to ward off any possible confrontations. And Joffrey had found her, walking back home from work at dusk, cornering her in an alley near the club he’d always liked to frequent while they were together. He’d threatened to kill her, shoving her harshly against the wall, her head slamming painfully against the rough brickwork. She’d pleaded for him to stop, trying to scream for help, but he’d clapped a hand over her mouth and ground against her, a threat of what he planned to do.

They’d never had sex, though they’d been dating for over a year. Sansa had entertained the idea early on, but Joffrey’s interests had lain elsewhere. He’d preferred her on her knees, sucking his cock, taking pleasure in the degradation. At first, she’d thought that he simply wanted to wait until marriage, her foolish innocence propping him up on a pedestal for being so chivalrous and traditional, though time told her otherwise. Joffrey only seemed to enjoy himself when slapping her around, and any time she showed any signs of her own pleasure, his cock softened. Sansa came to realize that she’d been spared thus far from the worst only by his expectation that she’d enjoy being fucked by him.

It seemed that she wasn’t going to be spared any longer, one of his hands roughly pushing up the fabric of her skirt as the other kept her quiet. She struggled against him, taking advantage of the moment he went for his own zipper to bite his hand. Losing his cool, Joffrey bellowed at her and backhanded her across the face, and her screams joined his as she collided with wall. Snarling, he reached down to drag her up by the hair, managing to haul her to her feet before freezing, the telltale sound of a gun cocking filling the silence.

It had been Petyr, accompanied by the bouncer for the club, Lothor Brune. They’d heard the screams, and come to investigate. Joffrey had paled as the gun pressed against his temple, his grip loosening on Sansa until she broke free, stumbling against the wall, hands scrambling to right her skirt. Lothor had stepped forward then, pulling Joffrey into a headlock as Petyr lowered the weapon and walked over to check on her. They locked Joffrey in one of the clubs private rooms, Lothor standing guard while they waited for the police to arrive, while Petyr led Sansa to his office.

He’d been so kind, brewing her a cup of tea and drying her tears, standing by as she tried to gain the courage to call her parents. When the police arrived, Petyr had given them copies of the security tapes from the alley as evidence, ensuring that she would be taken seriously, despite the lawyers the Baratheons would no doubt employ. Her parents had come shortly after, her father even thanking Petyr, despite the fact that they had never gotten along.

A long and tortuous legal battle ensued, with Petyr as a key witness, the surveillance videos from his club (complete with evidence of countless other indiscretions) serving as the final lynchpin that sealed Joffrey’s fate. Through it all, Petyr had been there for her, a friend and source of comfort from the most unexpected of places. The night the final verdict was given, they’d all gone out to celebrate, Petyr footing the bill since the restaurant was one of his latest investments. 

Before she’d left with her family, she’d stepped back into the empty dining room, the last stragglers having long departed, determined to thank him. He was behind the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey, though his mouth had quirked when she’d come in.

“Forget something, sweetling?”

Sansa nodded, drawing closer and slipping behind the bar. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said, suddenly feeling nervous, despite how close they had become. “For everything.”

He studied her carefully, weighing his words. “There’s no need. It’s enough just to see you free from that monster.”

She swallowed. “I mean it, though. You’ve helped me more than you could ever know.” She bit her lip, steeling her nerves, then went for it, leaning in to kiss his cheek, his stubble grazing her lips. 

As she pulled away, she paused, hovering in indecision, still so close, until he turned and their eyes met. She licked her lips, inclining her head, just slightly, urging him on, and he reached up to cup her cheek, fingers twining with her hair as their lips met. And oh, it had never felt like this, lips a gentle pressure that stirred every nerve, right down to her toes, her thoughts becoming muddled. Sansa found herself winding her arms around his torso, dragging him closer as one of his hands settled on her waist, squeezing gently.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and starry eyed, eyes filled with the promise of something wonderful, he’d dropped a kiss on her nose and sent her out to her parents. That night, as she’d gotten ready for bed, her phone flashed with a text from Petyr, asking her to dinner the following evening. Sansa had accepted, knowing she’d never wanted anything more.

Their relationship had not been without its trials. Petyr had a past with both her mother and father, having loved one as a boy, and been permanently scarred by the other because of it. But Sansa felt secure that the past had stayed where it belonged, and Petyr made certain to assure her of his affections as often as she required it (unasked, always, his perceptiveness and knowledge of her character allowing him to know what she needed, and when, at all times). Their age difference was another matter, her only nineteen and him nearing forty, though this fact never gave them pause even as it bothered nearly everyone else. 

They’d married when Sansa was twenty, an on location affair in Italy (she still remembered that day with perfect clarity, the way Petyr had looked at her as Ned guided her down the aisle. He’d looked as happy as she had felt, her joy swelling in her chest with every step), spending the following year traveling through Europe, an extended honeymoon that they thought well deserved, after everything Sansa had been through. Petyr had flown her family out to see them, for the wedding, and holidays, ensuring that at least her siblings liked him well enough, though her parents (mainly her father) had disliked being paid for. Still, over the years, everyone had gotten along tolerably well, helped along by how happy Petyr made her, and the grandchildren that would soon come for her parents.

Sansa reflected on how far she had come as Petyr nipped at her earlobe, clearly preoccupied with an entirely different train of thought. Smiling, she turned in his arms as his lips traced along her jaw, their mouths meeting just as the door banged open. Ear piercing shrieks rent the room as they broke apart, and two small forms hurtled onto the bed, shrieking and giggling madly as they accosted their parents.

The twins writhed in their parents’ arms, Alayne caught in Petyr’s embrace as Sansa snuggled Aidan, both wide awake and ecstatic for their grandparents’ arrival. Sansa peppered her son’s face with kisses until he squirmed away and wiped away her affections with a plaintive ‘yuck,’ before tugging on Alayne’s braid and careening out of the room, his giggling sister in pursuit. Sansa met her husband’s eyes and sighed, reluctantly rising to her feet to get ready for the day. At five, the twins required less looking after than in their earlier years, but it wasn’t wise to leave them alone for too long, their tendency towards mischief always a lurking threat.

Both kids were startlingly similar to one parent, Alayne taking after Sansa in looks (vivid red hair and clear blue eyes), while Aidan favored Petyr (dark haired with mischievous grey-green irises that drew you into their depths). Alayne had also inherited her mother’s temperament, polite and ladylike, though she had a secret devious streak that marked her as her father’s daughter. In contrast, Aidan had practically come out of the womb with his father’s smirk, his wits on par with his sister’s, making them quite the formidable pair. Already, they had driven away several babysitter’s, the only reliable ones left being members of Sansa’s family. Both preferred Sansa’s younger sister Arya, who often encouraged their schemes.

The day passed by in a blur as Sansa and Petyr readied the house and the children for her family’s arrival. As the years went on, the family Christmas had moved from the Stark home to theirs, a move necessitated by the sheer number of people who attended. The Baelish home had more than enough room to keep everyone comfortable, with space to spare, so it seemed the natural choice. Of course, the twins loved it, eagerly anticipating everyone each year, on Christmas Eve.

As dinner neared, her family trickled in, their hair and coats thick with the falling snow. Robb and his wife, Jeyne, and their little boy, named for his grandfather, Ned. Arya with her boyfriend of five years, Gendry Waters, who had no other family save them. Their cousin Jon and his wife Ygritte, stomach rounding over her waistband with her second trimester. And Sansa’s youngest brothers, Bran and Rickon, who’d come with their parents, cheeks flushed from the cold as they hugged everyone hello.

The rapport would never be completely without awkwardness, the tension between her father and Petyr still lingering there, under the surface (though Petyr’s trended more towards defensive than anything else, having long ago discarded with any ill will he felt over the past), but over the years they had settled comfortably enough. Everyone raved over the dinner that Sansa and Petyr had prepared, and once they were all full to bursting, they gathered in the living room, accompanied by the Christmas tree and a roaring fire. 

As was their tradition, the youngest were allowed to open two gifts each that night, whiling away the evening with their new acquisitions as the adults talked. About an hour before bedtime, Sansa and her mother prepared hot chocolate for everyone, passing out the hand decorated Christmas cookies she’d made with Aidan and Alayne earlier that week (some of the designs were rather creative, products of her children’s vivid imaginations). Of course, they saved a plateful for Santa Claus to placate the twins and little Ned.

Once the children were snugly tucked into their beds, the room became far quieter, everyone sleepy from their generous meal and the heat from the fire. They’d turned on the tv, A Christmas Story quietly playing in the background as they talked, catching up with everything that had happened since they’d last met. The night waned, and slowly everyone dispersed, heading for their rooms to get some shut eye before the children woke them at the crack of dawn, eager to open the presents that ‘Santa’ had brought for them. 

As always, the mention of Santa always brought a myriad of emotions to the forefront between Sansa and Petyr, including mischievous smirk to his face, an eyeroll and flushed cheeks on her end, and a rush of heat that settled far lower for the both of them. Every year, as the holidays loomed closer, Petyr always joked to Sansa that the twins had just substituted a ‘t’ for the ‘s’ since she was the one who mainly shopped for their gifts every year. Sansa would always act affronted, asking if he was insinuating that she was a jolly fat man with questionable fashion sense, prompting him to tease her by singing ‘Santa Baby’ (sometimes using Sansa, sometimes Santa), a rendition that usually ended with them sneaking off for a quick fuck. It was ridiculously weird, but despite her protestations, she rather liked this particular tradition. Somehow, it worked for them.

As the last of her family disappeared upstairs, goodnights thick with yawns, Sansa shut off the few lights still burning, pausing to admire the still lit Christmas tree in the dark for a few minutes. Petyr returned from the kitchen, having just finished cleaning up the last of the mess the meal had accrued, slipping his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned back against his chest, her cheek resting against his, reflecting once more on how happy she was, and how grateful she felt for his comforting embrace.

His mouth brushed against her skin, a reminder of the lust they’d put off since this morning, and her head fell back as he trailed hot kisses down her neck, his hands smoothing down her sides. Petyr found her pulse point and sucked, gripping her hips and pulling her closer, her butt rubbing against his cock through his trousers. Sansa swayed her hips, grinding against him as he sent chills reverberating down her spine, biting her lip to quiet the moan threatening to roll off her tongue. Hands snaked upward, cupping her breasts through her sweater, igniting a jolt of heat that shot straight to her groin, and she lost her restraint, tearing free from his grasp only to fall back into it, her lips colliding with his.

It was reckless, carrying on in such a manner with her entire family upstairs, the threat of getting caught imminent, and yet that hardly seemed to matter. Petyr backed her into the dining room table, mouth still hot against hers, and boosted her onto its surface, dropping into a chair as she eased back, feet propped on his thighs. His hands went to her skirt, pushing the silky fabric upward until he found the waistband of her underwear and they retreated, taking the lacy garment with them. 

Sansa bit her lip in anticipation as he kissed her knees, pushing them apart as his mouth traveled along her inner thigh. Her skirt bunched around her waist as he continued his course, tugging her hips closer to the edge of the table until, finally, finally, his tongue found her clit. A breath of air hissed from her lips as he teased the sensitive nub, hands rubbing along the length of her thighs as he ate her out. Her eyes rolled back as it hit, a wave flooding through her senses that carried away every coherent thought until she was delirious with the thrill.

Before she’d fully recovered, Petyr had gotten to his feet, freeing his cock as he tugged her hips closer. He brushed the head along the length of her slit, teasing her gently, until a plaintive cry escaped her lips and he plunged inside, filling her in one rough thrust. Sansa used her legs to urge him closer, and he complied, rutting into her with a quickened pace, knowing just how to angle his hips so that he hit that perfect spot, every time. 

Their eyes met as their movements became more frenzied, each iris swallowed by darkness, the absence of light and their lust robbing them of their color. Nevertheless, even now, amidst a rather animalistic passion, she could see the love reflected in his gaze. Petyr adored her, with every fiber of his being, worshipped her, between the sheets and in every moment of every day, always letting her know how much he cared, how much she deserved everything and more. And she believed him.

Sansa hadn’t deserved the treatment she had suffered through with Joffrey, his cruelty entirely unwarranted. But this, here and now, with her family upstairs and her children sleeping peacefully, dreams filled with the promise of the magic tomorrow would bring, her husband showing his love for her with every pulse pounding thrust…. She deserved this. Petyr had given her everything, had shown her what she was truly worth, and in return she’d fallen for him, giving her heart willingly to the man who’d helped her find herself. 

This was the story she’d been waiting for. Her happy ending. Forget the tales of knightly valor, she preferred the tale life had gifted her instead. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers, and she’d cherish every moment.

**Author's Note:**

> This probably wasn't as fluffy as the prompt hoped for, but hopefully everyone will like it regardless!


End file.
